End of Eternity
by Bluefire Eternal
Summary: SxT MxN. WR Fusion, no past knowledge required. The dragons have been supposedly extinct for centuries, but they hide among the humans in a chaotic Alagaesia. Join Thorn, Saphira and their companions on their journey to a better place. To Paradise.
1. The Forsaken Land

**Meet Plot Bunny #378 which insisted to be brought into reality. Technically, this isn't a crossover as it concerns no actual characters from the _Wolf's Rain _verse, so I'm keeping it in the Eragon section. (It's an extreme AU based off of WR/Fusion. It's not an actual crossover.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own either _the Inheritance Cycle _or _Wolf's Rain. _Both belong to their respective owners and what-not. However, I do own all original material, such as original characters and other stuff you don't recognize from either canon verse.**

**Pairings: SaphiraxThorn? And NasuadaxMurtagh, with a few surprise pairings thrown in as well (no slash)**

_"People are born with_

_People are born without_

_Some people have _

_And others want_

_What some go without_

_As for me I got all that I need_

_Don't got much but I got what I need"_

**_-Could You Bite the Hand, Yoko Kanno_**

_Our story begins in the nation of Alagaesia. In the past, it was a land of fantastic and magical beasts. Graceful elves dwelt in the forests, as elegant and fierce as wildcats. Dwarfs bustled under the mountains, mining for precious gemstones and hammering crude pieces of metal into awesome works of art. Dragons soared overhead, the most memorable and magical of all these creatures._

_Anyone that even caught a fleeting glimpse of a dragon could not forget the creature. They were powerful beings who never stopped growing, the elders of their kind were often mistaken as colorful hills. Despite their ponderous size, a dragon could easily spread its wings and take to the air, flying with the deadly grace of a high-bred falcon. When they breathed out, they exhaled fire instead of the dank air the other creatures. Their hides glittered with thousands upon thousands of scales, all as brilliant as the most precious of gemstones. And a dragon's eyes.... Deep pools of ancient wisdom that inspired countless poets... Legend had it that if a mere human gazed into those enigmatic eyes for too long, they would lose themselves in all those years of memories._

_And we, the mere humans, as fleeting as a spring in the eyes of the immortal elves and dragons, were a part of the magic. We traded with the dwarfs, were invited to their unforgettable celebrations and shared in the drunken revelry. We walked among the elves in their woodland haunts, a select few of us laid eyes upon their cherished capitol city, Ellesmera. And the dragons? We were blessed enough that they even tolerated our trying presence._

_But bad creatures existed among the good. There were the Urgals, hideous monsters that looked like crosses between rams and humans. They were a primitive and brutal race of barbarians, who would desecrate entire human villages in search of a worthy combatant. There was the Lethrblaka, winged demons that would swoop down upon an unsuspecting child and carry them back to their lairs, where the poor victims vanished forever. And then there were the Ra'zac, monsters frightening beyond description. One glance from their soulless black eyes would paralyze you, rendering unable to even scream your fear. Then they would begin to feast, devouring their incapacitated victims while they were still alive._

_It were these demons, these few bad apples, that made our ancestors terrified of all magical creatures. Our relations with the other races gradually soured, until we were the ones to lash out with destructive force and crippling attacks. Within just a few short seasons, the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka were completely eradacated by bands of fearful humans. Urgals, their once numerous population down to only a few hundred, fled to the unchartered wilderness of the north._

_While the elves could easily repulse any human attack against their numbers, they decided they did not want to live so close to a violent and hostile race. Departing upon their ships, they sailed away across the sea, presumably returning to their homeland. The dwarfs retreated deep into their underground lairs, sealing themselves away from the surface and the creatures who walked upon it forever._

_The dragons were not as fortunate as their fellows. Unlike the elves, they could not simply journey across the sea, as their wings could not carry them that far. And they could not seal themmselves away from the world, as they could not survive underground like the dwarfs. Trapped in Alagaesia, they were doomed to suffer the same fate as the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. _

_Dragons were hunted down, their horns and scaly hides prized upon the wealthy members of society who would do anything to get their hands upon it. Their forests were razed down, so that they were driven out of their hiding places by starvation and into the line of fire. In just a few short years, the once almost-countless dragon population dwindled down to nothing. _

_And with the disappearance of those three good magical races came the degradation of our own society. Anarchy reared its ugly head and the benign monarchies that had kept order in Alagaesia were overthrown, all members of the royal families slaughtered by citizens thirsty for blood. Chaos reigned, any individuals that could have ended the destruction cut down by the so-called 'rebels.'_

_In time three new powerful families established leadership in the chaos, cutting down all opposition and forcing the rebelling people into something resembling nations. The leaders of each of these countries (the Empire, the Varden, and Surda) came to be called Nobles. Today, these Nobles are Galbatorix Voskian of the Empire, Ajihad Hounsou of the Varden, and Orrin Larkin of Surda._

_Though there was a crude represantation of order in Alagaesia, peace was still a distant dream. The Empire was determined to rule all four corners of the continent while the Varden and Surda combined forces to stop him. The result was decades of warfare which continue today. In all of the chaos, crime runs rampant, the authorities too distracted with ratting out terrorist groups to care about the 'lesser evils' of robbery and drug-dealing._

_And this is a world we live in today. Of strife and death. Of lawlessness and apathy. Of sorrow and loss. Without hope, or justice, or a real chance of peace. _

_Or magic and the wonders that come with it. This is a world without elves and dwarfs. Or dragons._

* * *

Ah, the _wonderful _city of Dras-Leona. The Inner Rim of the city was a haven compared to the chaos of the world outside. The buildings there were graceful, plants lined every street. and crime was virtually nonexistent. Oh, and there was good security. Bands of armed law enforcement officers marched down the streets of the Inner Rim daily, discouraging illegal activities with their _very _intimidating demeanours.

Too bad the same couldn't be said for the Outer Rim. Separated from the Inner Rim by a heavily fortified and armed barrier, the only protection the rest of Dras-Leona had from the outside world was a flimsy wall that could have been penetrated by the weakest of rebels. While the Inner Rim was the image of perfection, the Outer Rim consisted of a series of ramshackle buildings and a maze of twisting and turning narrow streets. Crime was rampant here, police nonexistent, and raiding incoming trucks of supplies on the way to the Inner Rim the only way to earn a decent living.

A small but highly successful gang who went by name of the Red Strikers was just returning from such a raid. Whooping their victory, they raised their pistols upward and unleashed a series of gunshots, the sound like a wolf howling the successful catch of its prey.

"Gods!" one of the men shouted. "That was _awesome. _Old Galby would never know what hit him!"

Nolfavrell, the youngest member of the Red Strikers, was grinning ear to ear. Looking at the big crates he and the other gangsters were lugging back to the hideout, he remarked, "With all these supplies we stole we have enough to live like kings for at least _two entire weeks!"_

Baldor rolled his cigarette around his mouth, which was his way of expression satisfaction. "Two entire weeks of just relaxing and hanging around the hideout. Man, that's what I call paradise!"

The leader of the procession of bandits, the only one of the group that wasn't carrying a single crate, whirled around at that statement, eyes narrowing. The man couldn't have been older than twenty-five, but there was a hardness to his face that belonged only to a veteran of a terrible war. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and was dark brown, but the artificial light of the street lamps gave it crimson streaks. He wore only faded jeans and a dark red sweatshirt, which concealed the massive scar that marred his chest. His name was Thorn, and he was the leader and founder of the Red Strikers.

"Don't get comfy," he replied coldly. "Another supply train is coming through the Inner Rim tomorrow night. We're going to hit that as well."

The Red Strikers, all exhausted from the night's raid and most injured in some way or another by the guards that had protected the supplies, groaned. Some grumbling under their breath and others merely glowering, the most assertive of the gang turned to face their leader, opening their mouths to protest.

Thorn turned around, shooting them an icy glare. In the glow of the street lights, his dark brown eyes burned crimson, their pupils narrow and inhuman. This look was enough to silence even the angriest of men. No one, no matter how big or tough you were, messed with Thorn and got away with it.

But Nolfavrell was not big or tough, and certainly not even close to manhood. Looking up at his leader with pleading eyes, he said in a quivering voice, "Please, Thorn, can't we just let this one slide? We're all so tired from tonight's raid. I don't think we'd be able to deal with another one so soon..."

Thorn regarded the young boy with his eerie eyes. He stepped out of the street light, his eyes darkening back to their normal color. "The raid continues as planned." A chorus of groans was elicited from the men and Nolfavrell looked down at his feet, ashamed. "Anyone who doesn't show up tomorrow night are willingly resigning from the Red Strikers... forever." He turned around, hands in his pockets, no doubt ready to continue the journey back to the hideout.

"You inconsiderate bastard!"

Thorn whirled around, eyes flashing red. Hands curling into fists, he glared icily at the rebellious inferior. "Do have something to say to my face, Albriech?"

Albriech, Baldor's much younger and stupider brother, shoved his way out of the crowd. Facing his leader, he dropped his crate, raising a finger challengingly. "You heard me, _Thorn_. We listen to every order that comes out of your bitchy mouth without complaint day after day! We do your little raids, protect our turf, battle the other gangs. _And you do nothing!_"

Baldor grabbed his sibling's, no doubt trying to protect him from Thorn's notorious wrath. "Little brother," he said in a soothing voice. "I think it's time to drop this little rant and carry own with our-"

"No, Baldor!" Albriech shoved his elder brother off, taking a few foolhardy steps toward his leader. "_We _are the ones that do all the dirty work. We bribe the cops, ice the guys that are causing us too much grief, do all the physical stuff. _You _lead the raids and the battles against other gangs. You're just there to remind everyone who's the _true force _behind the Red Strikers."

Thorn's brow arched. "And you have a problem with that?"

"Considering that we're the ones you have to take the heat from the cops, _yes! _We're the ones that are connected to the raids, to the robberies. When the time comes when the cops finally catch on, me and the others will be the guys that get arrested. We're all just shields for your sorry ass!"

Wide-eyed, the Red Strikers silently watched the confrontation between Thorn and poor, poor Albriech. All were tense, waiting for the inevitable moment when their feared leader pulled out his gun and ended Albriech's life in a shower of bullets. Thorn relaxed, his hands slowly unfurling his hands. He opened his mouth, no doubt to say the last words his inferior would ever hear...

"It's 'the others and I'," he said mildly, with the air of a haughty individual correcting a friend's grammar mistake. Turning around, he began to walk away, leaving his stunned gang and the flabbergasted challenger behind.

"That's it?" Albriech questioned in a mixture of shock and outrage. "That's all you have to say to us?"

_"Don't _follow me," Thorn added almost as an afterthought. Without another word, the mysterious and rather infuriating leader (and founder) of the Red Strikers stalked down a side alley that did not lead to the hideout, vanishing into the shadows as swiftly and silently as a ghost.

* * *

The disorganized chaos of Dras-Leona was not only apparent in the squalid conditions of the Outer Rim and the lawlessness that plagued it. With the absence of police and military personel, animal control officers were also missing. Over decades of build up from rapidly reproducing strays and runaway pets, the winding streets of the Outer Rim were plagued with packs of feral dogs that prowled the city at night.

These weren't your ordinary strays. Decades of fighting for food and their very survival had made them as tough and brutal as the human inhabitants of the Outer Rim. These ferals, resembling hellhounds more than dogs, were not above attacking humans for meat. It was not uncommon that an unarmed loner was ambushed and devoured by a pack. The bones of such victims were later discovered in alleys, devoid of even the marrow.

Which made fighting such ferocious animals, if you didn't have a gun and a 'pack' of your own, a very foolish and possibly fatal past-time.

Huh. Like he cared.

The leader of this particular packs could be described as nothing less than a monster vaguely resembling a canine. With shaggy dark brown fur, a large and brutal head, bone-white fangs, and stupid and hateful little eyes, it looked more like a bear than a dog. The alpha snarled, beady eyes glittering with hatred. Fur bristling and fangs bared, his pack followed suit. They remembered him.

A small predatory smirk ghosted his lips. "How touching," he sneered. "You actually bothered to remember me."

This pack was a favorite of his. The large and brutish genes ran through the bloodlines, and the bear-dogs like the alpha were quite common. Which meant satisfying fights and ever more satisfactory prey. Perfect.

Growling deep in his throat, the alpha regarded him with stupid little eyes. His pelt was riddled with massive scars, memoirs of past encounters with him. The mongrel was a lucky one. Not many dogs could meet him in combat so many times and not yet become yet another mere snack. But tonight, all of that was going to change. Sensing his hunger, the alpha barked a challenge, his feral call echoing on the concrete and brick walls of the alley.

He answered back with a growl of his own, one that shook the buildings. Leaning down into a crouch, he began the transformation. Blunt fingernails hardened into lethal bone-white claws. Flat teeth sharpened into rows of sharp fangs. Ruby red scales erupted from tender flesh, covering his soft flesh in natural and nigh impenetrable armor. Clenching his jaw, he forced the transition from pathetic human to his true form to stop early. It would not bode well for his cover by the presence of a full-grown dragon lurking around a human city. Not well at all. Besides, so long as he had claw and fang, he had all the weapons he needed.

The alpha lunged first, his pack following suit. Thorn jumped back nimbly, avoiding the barrage of fur and teeth by a mile. Lashing out with a clawed hand, he caught a feral by the throat. The hit dog fell to the ground without a single protesting whimper, his throat torn neatly out. A lucky blow.

Galvanized by the blood of their fallen packmate, the swarm of dogs pounced on him with the ferocity of lions. They acted as instinct instructed them to, striking out at his week points and trying to gain a stranglehold on his own throat. Too bad their blunt claws didn't even faze him and their fangs couldn't do anything but make small dents and scratches on his scales.

But there were so many ferals, all bigger and heavier than their normal counterparts. Still partly in this weakened state, he couldn't deal with them all. Growling, Thorn vanished beneath a heap of snapping and snarling ferals.

Summoning his strength, he shed even more of his human skin. With an enraged roar, he shook the dogs off. He towered above even the tallest of the ferals, a frightening combination of dragon and man. The offending alpha was pinned under one paw, chest still and beady black eyes glazing over with the veil of death.

The dog pack, realizing they had been defeated, turned tail and fled into the shadows of the alley, fleeing back to their lair. He watched them go, red eyes burning as he glared after their hastily retreating backs. For good measure, he let a thin trail of flame pursue them, just burning the paws of the rear dogs before it died out.

_That's right, _he thought smugly. _Though you all pretend to be so big and tough, you are nothing more than the escaped playthings of the humans. Pathetic._

But a part of Thorn was not satisfied by this display of strength. He had hunted or battled these mongrels before, whether for an easy meal or just to work off some steam. His inner beast had been infuriated by that rebellious little human Albriech and desired nothing more than to torture him until he screamed for mercy. While he was at it, why not dispose of the rest of the Red Strikers? All were humans, measly, traitorous humans who would sell off their closest friends the moment trouble came their way. Why should he continue to waste his time with the bastards?

Because this was a human's world he was living in now. The days where his ancestors lived side by side with humans were long gone. Either he learned to control his temper and deal with them in a 'reasonable manner' or else risk discovery and the slow excruciating death by scientists by reliving the incident with his first gang, the Dragon Fangs. No... Never again.

Still, Thorn could not deny the feelings he felt on a regular basis. To shed this false human form and resume the true shape he had not truly taken in ages. To fly away from the war, the chaos, the hopelessness... And search for a better place.

Hearing himself, Thorn shook his head, lip curling in disgust. Slowly his massive form shrank, taking a more humanoid form. "Listen to me," he said bitterly. "I sound like one of those damned nutjobs. Next thing I know I'll have lost my life chasing after that stupid dream."

Turning to the two dead dogs, Thorn crouched down, and ate his dinner in peace.

**HELP: I need suggestions on who should be the Hige-character of the story. I've been thinking about Glaedr, but I'm saving him for something bigger. Greeni and Shruikan are also unavailable. Any kinds of suggestions except OCs are welcome (a Dragon!version of a canon character, a past dragon from canon like Saphira I, anything)**

**Next chapter: A mysterious blue she-dragon stirs up trouble and a fight in Dras-Leona. Meanwhile, another young dragon is just about to embark on his quest.**

**A few things:**

**1. The dragon's human disguises are different from those used in by the wolves in WR. The wolves merely projected _illusions _to fool the human mind into believing they were actual humans. Presumably other animals and machines were not fooled by the trick. The shadows of a wolf also revealed their true shape. Or if a person came into contact with a wolf in disguise, then the illusion would fall away and reveal themselves for what they truly were. The dragons in this fiction can actually change their shape as mere illusions would not work for a dragon as big a house. There are several ways to tell a transformed dragon from a mere human (like their eyes) in ways that will be discussed later in the fic.**

**2. The beginning commentary is told by a narrator of no importance so you can forget about him. **

**3. This story is both Thorn and Saphira centric.**


	2. Amethyst and Emerald, Fire and Ice

**Yes, an update after months of inactivity. I had originally planned to abandon this story as my muse had left me, but it came back after a sight I saw a few days ago inspired me to write more. Where I live its covered in snow, or it used to be before the customary January thaw came in. I woke up one morning to discover the month's old snow outside was being washed away by a rain shower, revealing still-green grass. Then of course, it got me thinking of Wolf's Rain and this story. Don't thank me for this chapter, thank the unpredictable and inspiring weather of New England! Then again, it still took me almost a month to be satisfied with the thing....**

**Disclaimer: _The Inheritance Cycle _and _Wolf's Rain _are not mine. However, much of the character of Calibar is, along with the rest of the original material you do not recognize from the book series or the anime.**

_"I'm here waiting on the edge  
Would I be alright showing myself to you?  
It's always been so hard to do..."_

**_- Stray, By Yoko Kanno and Steve Conte_**

Dras-Leona's sewers were hundreds of years old, some parts of the system never having been touched since their initial construction centuries ago. Of course, the sewer systems in the Inner Rim were brand-new and top-of-the-line, their maintenance and repair costs funded by the money that could have been used to improve the squalid conditions in the lawless Outer Rim. Calibar couldn't complain about the obsolete sewers; they were now the only ones he could squeeze through now. The newer tunnels were too small for his growing body.

Yes, that was how he got around nowadays. Slithering through sewers like a snake and wading through human waste like a rat. What was he supposed to be doing? Flying was useless in a city where you would be gunned down the moment you took off and your body carted off to a lab to be dissected and studied. Walking in the streets, being the conspicuous dragon that he was, would yield similar bloody results. No, the disgusting underworld of this forsaken city was the only place left for him now. The wonderful recollections of the untamed wilds Auntie had told him of were long since wiped out, replaced by barren snow-covered fields that had been killed by the cruel freeze.

Calibar's last few years of life had been reduced to a petty cycle; prowl through the sewers to emerge in isolated dumps to scavenge for all of the rotten meat he could find and then wade back to the abandoned warehouse that served as his home to begin the routine the following morning.

Auntie had been there in the beginning of his life, helping out in whatever way possible. She had discovered Calibar as a young and senseless hatchling, and had reared him almost as a sort of adopted son when she realized he was sentient. Auntie had not been a dragon herself, simply a believer in the tales of the mythical beast she had been told as a child. The old stories had stuck with her, providing her and Calibar the flimsy guidance they had used to help accomplish their goals.

Their most important goal had been getting Calibar into mastering his human transformation, both assuming the unfamiliar shape and holding the magic necessary to support the spell and keep himself from reverting to his original draconic state. Years of effort had left them with little progress, and Auntie had passed away before her pupil had shown any signs of major improvement. After her death, Calibar had ceased in his efforts and had declared the transformation futile.

Even today, his best efforts could only summon up a form as solid as mist. The moment his concentration wavered or something made contact with him, the magic would be broken. Not to mention how such challenging labor left him physically and mentally drained and exhausted for days.

Calibar paused through his usual trek through the sewers, nostrils flaring at an unknown scent. While he had thought his smelling organs had long since shorted out after being delved in the reek of waste for so long, they were still strong enough to make him aware of this new predicament. Unable to place the unfamiliar smell, he snorted in frustration, raising his head to try and get above the stifling fumes.

The scent was of cherries. Not like the fresh fruit from the open-air market stands, but the sweet kind that humans put into shampoos and beauty products. The kind of stuff Auntie used to use to make herself smell nice. Below the cherry perfume was a more familiar scent, one instinct recognized immediately. How could he describe it? Fire and wind? Ash and fresh air untainted by the city's stench?

That was _his _scent. The tell-tale scent of a _fellow dragon._

Growing giddy with excitement, Calibar hurried over to the closest storm-drain, determined to catch just one glimpse of this dragon, even if he or she was just wearing their human disguise. His only recollection of seeing another dragon were faint memories of his dead mother. Just one little look at this new kindred spirit was all he wanted. One little taste to satisfy his insatiable curiosity.

Above, the usual ragged and jaded crowds of the Outer Rim hurried along with their miserable lives. None noticed the emerald-scaled and waste-streaked dragon that peered up at them from the odorous depths below, scanning the passerby with brilliant green eyes in search of the one that had entranced him so.

Then he caught sight of them, the pair where the cherry-dragon-scent was strongest. The oldest was a woman with gray hair and a wrinkled face that somehow managed a jovial expression even in the bleak atmosphere of the slums. Her companion was also female, but decades younger. She could've had been no more than sixteen, by Calibar's reckoning, and absolutely stunning by human standards. The girl was pale-skinned with black hair she had cropped short. But it were her eyes that were most significant. They were intense violet, a shade he had never seen before in any iris. The deep pools drew Calibar in, until he thought he would lose himself in their sad and fathomless depths.

The two women each carried grocery bags, the majority of the burden shifted on the younger one. They were conversing idly with the other, the violet-eyed one somehow managing to shoot icy glares at the lecherous men that ogled at her without losing the mild tone in her voice. Obviously she was used to such behaviour, even if the old woman seemed oblivious to the perversion.

As they passed by, Calibar tilted his head to watch them. His mystery girl must have caught the slight movement out of the corner of her gaze, for the next moment the green dragon found those intense eyes trained right at him.

Immediately, panic and doubt surged up in his mind. What if his presumption of the girl had been incorrect and she was not truly a dragon? Would she scream at the sight of an oversized lizard staring up at her from the sewers? Or would she run off to alert the authorities of the large dragon lurking beneath Dras-Leona? While the politicians didn't care about the rampant crime and chaos, they had particular interest in any 'dragon sighting' that happened along their way. And it would only take a small investigation to discover definitive proof of his presence and capture him for torture in the form of 'research'.

But the girl did not seem frightened by his appearance. For a brief second she was merely startled, but shock soon gave way to exasperation of all things. Glowering at Calibar, she dropped her groceries purposely all over the sidewalk. When the old woman turned to speak to her, she waved off her offers for help with a dismissive hand. She bade her companion, Greta, to continue home without her.

Kneeling down, the black-haired girl began to pick up the dropped grocery items. Sneaking a furtive glance at those ignorant people that passed by, she lowered her head to the drain to confront the green dragon below. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed so low only his sharp hearing could detect her words. "Do you wish to die of the diseases those filthy sewers carry? Or are you simply too foolish to care?"

While such negative words would have offended or angered any normal person, Calibar was too happy at his discovery to care about her callous response to his presence.

_I knew it! _he crowed triumphantly. _There just had to be other dragons out there in Dras-Leona! I just wasn't looking hard enough for them._

Groaning, the girl pinched her nose impatiently. "Of course there are more of us, dumb-ass," she snapped in that low voice. "There is at least two others here in the Outer Rim, a tempermental male that keeps to himself and his petty human playmates. There was a rather promiscuous female too, but her sorry tail either already skipped town or is pleasuring those wealthy victims up in the Inner Rim. We're just too apathetic to the others to care about them much."

_Oh, well then that's great! _the green dragon chirped brightly. He had risen his head all the way against the bars that separated him from the surface world, his horns just jutting out from the spaces between them. _My name is Calibar. What's your-_

"Quiet! Now is not the time for conversation out in the open where whatever gang-banger and conspiracy theorist can hear you. Follow me. There is an alley not too far from here where you can get the proper scolding you deserve. And if you must know, my name is Elva." The girl retrieved the last of the spilled items, stuffing them carelessly into her bags. She then turned and headed toward an alley near the abandoned warehouse Calibar called home.

Intrigued by these new developments and too curious to let this opportunity pass him by, the emerald-green dragon happily followed Elva through the sewers to the spot.

Grouchy and sharp-tongued she may have been, but a dragon was a dragon. Especially a _female _dragon to a young male just beginning to become acquainted with his hormones.

* * *

After the rather typical day of wandering aimlessly about the twisted streets and torturing those amusing feral dog packs, Thorn found himself wandering back to his own territory to check up on his men. The Red Strikers were beginning to question his authority, challenge his power and dare to defy his orders. Such a thing had happened with the Dragon Fangs. He allowed such bad behaviour to continue until they were beyond his control, and he had been forced to dispose of them for his secret's sake. Thorn would never allow another mistake like that to pass by him again. Discipline would be kept and balance in the rankings maintained, even if the Strikers happened to view him as a tyrant for his efforts.

The base of the Red Strikers was a fenced-off compound that contained warehouses. Once it had been the headquarters of a legal storage company that had kept supplies that were being shipped in and out of the Inner Rim and the rest of the Empire. But it had been ages ago when a gang had driven off the company to use their property to manufacture and sell blackmarket drugs to the populace.

That was where Thorn and his Red Strikers had come in, ruthlessly wiping out their rivals and integrating the few survivors into their numbers. Thorn couldn't care less about the previous loyalties or associations of his inferiors. All that mattered to him was that their devotion was forever his and that they obeyed his every order dutifully and swiftly.

Many of the smaller warehouses of the compound were used to store the stash of supplies the Strikers had raided from other gangs and Imperial con-vans. Then the items, like weapons or food, were kept for the Strikers own use. Surplus or unneeded products were pawned off to interested customers wanting to pay less for items illegal or too expensive anywhere.

But the compound was huge, too large for one small operation to fully operate. (Thorn was careful to control the size of his smuggling empire, for too little business would prove usless and too much would attract the unnecessary attention of the federal law that occupied Dras-Leona.) Many of the larger warehouses at the back of the base were derelict, not touched since the days they still contained legally obtained products.

"Thorn, oh thank the gods you're here!"

The man's brow arched, noting how the man that had called his name was none other than Albriech, the petty rebel that had shouted at him the night before. Such was the fickle nature of the humans. They thought themselves to be above all others, capable of doing what no one else could. It was only when they faced something truly frightening or challenging did they become obedient, turning pitifully to the ones they thought strong enough to offer aid.

Curling his lip into a disdainful sneer, Thorn stared down at this human inferior, feeling in pleasure at having this despicable dog completely at his mercy. "What is it this time, Albriech? Have you worked up the nerve to quit the Red Strikers? Or have you mustered up the stupidity you call courage to challenge me for the leadership of my men?"

Shivering in fear, Albriech shook his head. He was actually sweating from his nerves, profusely enough so that Thorn couldn't help but mentally retch at the stench that emanated from him. "I-I would never dream of going against you, T-Thorn. Do you know how successful the raid was? How much goods we captured from the Empire? Well, you know how crammed the usual warehouses are and how many crates we need to store? Well, Baldor and I rallied some of the other men to prepare one of the back-up warehouses and..."

Thorn allowed Albriech to ramble senselessly on for a time, relishing the quiver of unease in his voice. However, his initial amusement quickly soured into impatience when the human's trembling speech failed to yield any true explanation for his sudden fear. Silencing the babbling with an actual growl, Thorn made Albriech look straight into his brown eyes, which had begun to glow red in agitation.

"Does this distraction have a point, Albriech? If not, the dogs that roam the streets at night would be pleased to meet you. Perhaps they'll even chew through the ropes that will be binding you to give you the false of escaping their jaws before they bring you down like prey. Or they'll bite your throat and have their meal incapacitated. Either way is just fine for me."

"Just come with me!" Siezing his leader's sleeve, Albriech yanked him along, sprinting in the direction of the abandoned warehouses. For a while Thorn allowed himself to be tugged along like a dawdling child, but he ripped his arm free as the pair reached their destination.

In front of one of the more intact warehouses was a cluster of Red Strikers, gathered around the door as if a fierce monster lurked within. Some nervously toyed with their guns, muttering to each other about organizing a group to investigate the strange noises that sounded from within. Others were just gathering things to barricade the door with, planning to trap the creature inside before setting the warehouse alight with fire. Most just hung back, paralyzed by some ancient fear that prevented from them creeping closer or fleeing the area altogether.

"Enough!" Thorn shouted, his loud voice startling his nervous Strikers out of their dazed reveries. Only his presence could have made them back away and drop their obstacles and guns, muttering apologies for their actions. Sharp eyes scanning the crowd, the leader and founder of the Red Strikers gestured for Nolfavrell to come forward. "Nolfavrell, in the past you have always been a reliable source of information. Tell me. What the hell is going on here?"

Wide-eyed, the youngest member of the group did his best to recall the events. "We were just trying to prepare one of the larger warehouses to store the new goods. But when Baldor opened the door, something inside _growled _at us. We shut the door, but we could still hear the sounds of some animal within. It keeps hissing, so at first I thought it might be some sort of python or something. But then when someone got too close to the door it roared, so it has to be some kind of bear or big cat. People were just debating what to do when you showed up."

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Thorn cautiously lowered his mental barriers to confirm his theory. For a moment all he felt were the terrified and bewildered consciousnesses of the Red Strikers, then it hit him. A raging wall of fire, woven with pain and limitless rage at the intrusion of her resting place.

"Stay back!" Thorn ordered his men harshly. He made a show of reaching for the gun strapped to his belt, but he had far grander plans in mind for the interloper inside _his _warehouse in _his _territory. "Follow me, and you shall go the same way the beast in here will soon suffer."

Striding past the Red Strikers, and ignoring Nolfavrell's protesting cry, he ripped the door open. A roar immediately sounded from the intruder within, who unleashed an inferno of blue fire to drive him back. Thorn ducked, deftly avoided the tongue of flame. But the display was still enough to send his Strikers panicking an fleeing for the safety of the streets.

"Weak bastards!" he bellowed after them, before turning his attention to the meddlesome creature that had disturbed his lifestyle. "Face me, coward. You had the gall to intrude upon my territory and now you must have the courage to deal with the consequences."

Two bright blue eyes glared out at him from the darkness of the warehouse, and he heard the disdainful growl of the dragon within. _You are one to talk, two-legs. Hiding in a body that will never be yours, denying the truth of your instincts. By the way you speak, those human men are your playthings. Mere pawns to your fleeting whims. Defeating one that masquerades as one of those filthy creatures will be no problem for me!_

When the wall of sapphire scales and sharp horns surged out right at him, Thorn had already slid to the side and out of the she-dragon's way. The next moment the blue female had thundered off, heading for an open area of the compound for a proper battle. He was hot in pursuit, urging his weak human muscles to keep up with the she-dragon's impressive speed.

_I smell the blood, _he thought to himself. _I see it coming from her wing. She must have stopped to recover her strength after a difficult flight and to heal up. But she cannot fly off easily, if she even can. _

Then how the name of all the gods was he supposed to get her out of his territory and away from his life? Federal investigators had already been suspicious enough after finding the remains of the Dragon Fangs. Eye-witness reports of a dragon sighting in the base of the Red Strikers would arouse those old files, the old hunches that had almost gotten him captured the last time.

Just fight the she-dragon and beat her into submission as swiftly as possible, Thorn figured. Then she would flee his territory and out onto the streets to be gunned down and carted off to one of the labs to be studied. Like the other foolish dragons that had unwisely walked around in broad daylight in their true forms. Yes, then she would be out of his life forever and no longer endangering his secret.

When the blue she-dragon had reached an area she deemed suitable for battle she turned to face him. Wings furled close to her sides she bared her fangs in challenge, lowering her head to expose the dangerous tips of her horns. But instead of charging again she lashed out with her tail, a deadly whip headed right in his direction.

Dashing to the side, Thorn avoided lash after lash. Large as the female was, his smaller form gave him the advantage of agility, one which he used to doge past her whipping limb to her vulnerable points. Taking a running leap, he landed on her back, claws automatically unsheathing to gain a purchase on her scales. He clung to her like a burr, slowly inching his way up to her neck. Once there, he could effectively had her nullified, and her life would be at his mercy. Then it would have been a simple matter to force her to leave his turf.

The obnoxious female had other plans. Craning her head around, her fangs caught his sweatshirt and ripped him off like an irritating fly. She then slammed him onto the concrete ground, a blow that effectively stunned Thorn and reverted him back to a completely human form.

Pinning him beneath a heavy paw, the she-dragon tore through his hoodie and underlying shirt to reveal the prone chest beneath. The she-dragon then lowered her head, examining the massive X-shaped scar that marred his torso. If it were even possible, the sight made her eyes narrow even more in disgust. One claw poised to sink into his chest and pierce vital organs all th while, she addressed him disdainfully.

_An outcast of the dragons, _she sneered scornfully. _I should of thought as such. Only one viewed in utter disgrace by his own kinsmen would seek shelter amongst the humans, let alone don one of their pitiful bipedal forms. It appears you are more of a coward than I thought, one the world would be better off without.... _She raised her talon, preparing to bring it down in a decisive execution move.

"Get away from him!" Both dragons turned in astonishment, shocked to see the owner of the voice charging right toward them. There was Nolfavrell, who had somehow acquired a crowbar, foolishly heading right into certain death. He appeared blissfully oblivious to this revelation, for his only thought that currently ran through his loyal mind was to rescue his leader from the jaws of that giant monster.

"Idiot," Thorn hissed under his breath, baring suddenly sharp fangs in a snarl of rage. "This is my fight! He should know better than to intercede on his own behalf!"

Gaze snapping from Nolfavrell back to her captive, her eyes turned into icy slits of hatred. _So you are more than a coward, but a selfish monster! That young one is barely beyond his hatchling years, of that! _She growled accussingly at him, the insults stinging Thorn far more than her earlier ones did. _I thought you of all creatures would no better than to allow an innocent child to become trapped in such a dangerous world, but apparently not. You are willing to sacrifice his life just so that you can continue to play puppet master of these humans!_

_He is a man by this city's standards! _Thorn roared back, reverting to his mental voice so that the young Red Striker could not hear this private argument. _Boys younger than him are killed every night in raids and by senseless violence. Girls his age are most likely prostitutes struggling to earn a living or not having any choice in the matter! With me at least he has a chance of surviving to manhood, and becoming stronger and tougher than the gang-bangers and drug dealers that infects these streets._

_With you he is condemned to death! _the she-dragon retorted bluntly. _I know enough of these barbaric animals to realize that the ones that roam the streets have notoriously brief lifespands. Now he may survive, but what happens when you lead your pawns into a fight you can not control? When he faces an opponent that doesn't care he is but a misguided child? Your blood is on your claws, outcast. Whether or not is you that pulls the trigger or not._

Raising her head to her full intimidating height, she turned her icy gaze to Nolfavrell. Daunted by the sheer size of the beast, he paused in his charge with a startled yelp, paralyzed before her glare like a deer in headlights. The female only sighed in pity, knowing him to be beyond her help. Stepping away from Thorn as if he were a piece of garbage, she spread her injured wings, and lurched into the air with great effort. Barely able to mange a painful hover, she rose to a suitable height and was lost to sight as she flew over several tall buildings.

Nolfavrell stared up in awe for a moment, stunned by the amazing sight of an enormous beast being able to fly like a bird. Then his worried and relieved gaze was all for Thorn. Said leader was still on his back, glaring up at the sky with outrage. Right now he wanted nothing better than to abandon his human disguise and tear after that bothersome female, but not in the middle of a populated city. Not with Nolfavrell there to witness everything.

"Thorn! Thorn! Are you okay-" The young boy cut off in shock, noticing the massive scar that slashed across the elder man's chest. He knew that Thorn had such a mark of course but it was another thing entirely to see the notorious wound close-up. He was only able to gawk, even when Thorn finally managed to stagger to his feet.

The dragon in disguise examined himself, swiftly scanning for injuries. While his shirts were ripped beyond repair, his flesh had only received superficial scratches and bruises where he had collided with cement and had been clawed and snapped out by one irate female. He then felt his ribs, checking to see if any were broken. Breathing was a bitch, but nothing felt damage. Fortunately being crushed beneath that weight had not harmed him much. They may have been sprained, but nothing untreatable-

Brown eyes looked up from their inspection, settling down upon Nolfavrell. Realization struck Thorn when he noticed his sweatshirt had been ripped open during the attack, freely revealing the scar his old leader had so generously given him for his cowardice. The same sign weakness that was now being openly advertised to a mere human youngling.

"Thorn," Nolfavrell began quietly, timidly beginning to approach his leader. Even his oblivious soul had noticed something was wrong and some long-buried instinct whispered that the man in front of him was a threat to his very life. Ignoring the primal terror, he inched ever closer, showing only concern on his open face. "You're hurt. Come on, let me have a look at that. My mom used to be a doctor and she taught me a few things before she... left."

Rigid as a brick-wall, Thorn watched Nolfavrell cautiously approach with narrowed eyes. Just as the boy's hands were about to touch his flesh he lurched away, eyes flashing red in anger. The next words that escaped his throat did so as a bestial roar: _"Don't touch me!"_

This outburst caused Nolfavrell to wheel back in fright. The boy cried out and fell onto his back, the expression in his eyes one of absolute terror. Quick to regain some modicum of composure he climbed to his feet, refusing to break down in front of his leader. But nothing could stop the stammer of his response. "O-okay, T-Thorn. I'll go and g-gather the Strikers up again n-now."

Thorn nodded coldly, the only trace left of his display of rage the dangerous slant of his eyebrows. "Tell them the raid tonight goes on as planned. One mutant in an abandoned warehouse changes nothing. Those that do not show can consider themselves no longer my Red Strikers."

Managing to keep his molten temper in check, the dragon in a human's skin slowly walked to the farthest corner of the base, where his own 'room' was. The pain in his chest was immense, and he completed the journey hunched over and with bared teeth. But even if he had been on the verge of death, he would not have accepted Nolfavrell's assistance. He did not need the pity of undeserving humans to be strong. He was a dragon for the sake of the gods. And like any good draconic leader he skulked off to a private corner to lick his wounds in peace.

As for the she-dragon? Let the proud idealist die. Thorn knew her kind, the hopelessly delusional individuals that searched for their make-believe paradise. Those that refused to listen to common sense and stubbornly put their faith in a bedtime story told by long-dead elders to their gullible grandchildren who had in turn passed on the tales to a whole new generation of idiots. Like all of the others, the sapphire she-dragon would chase the dream to her death. Whether it be by the guns of Imperial soldiers or at the jaws of another dragon that tired of her disrespect, he didn't care. So long as she couldn't be traced back to him or his Strikers, she was just another drifter passing through the Outer Rim. Another of his kind he encountered only once, never to be see again after.

Thorn shook the thoughts out of his head, and the strange sapphire-scaled female that had managed to sting him with the caustic remarks about Nolfavrell's welfare was but a faint memory.

Or, at least he tried to tell himself that.

**Next chapter: We go away from our dragons to a closer look at the story's other cast members. For example, a seemingly insane drunkard and his hellish but faithful dog. Or a Dr. Nasuada Hounsou and her mysterious experiment. Oh, and a certain ex-boyfriend Detective Murtagh Rider that has a crime syndicate of his own to bring down. His target: the Red Strikers, the most infamous gang of the Outer Rim, and their elusive leader that goes by the alias 'Thorn.'**

**1. Calibar, or Cal for short, is the 'Greeni' of canon, as in the green egg mentioned only in passing. But basically his background and personality are my own. Which means that if Paolini's Greeni is a suspiciously like my original character, you know who technically made it up first.**

**2. Yes, Elva is a dragon in this fic. Mostly because the only two remaining available canon dragons, Shruikan and Glaedr, already have roles of their own. One other character from the books will be made on a dragon here, the 'Hige' of the group. Here's a hint, its not Eragon, Nasuada or Murtagh. But you'll be meeting _her _real soon. (Who could it be? Arya? Angela? Trianna? Katrina? Maud? My grandmother? Go ahead and guess ;)**

**3. I know a giant dragon is a very noticeable thing in a crowded city, but you gotta remember Saphira is in the Outer Rim. There people get devoured by mutant dogs and are frequently swept in gang wars. Do you think one little winged lizard warrants much attention from civilians in a world that is literally a living hell?**


	3. Other Side

**Disclaimer: _The Inheritance Cycle _and _Wolf's Rain _are not mine. If it were, _Wolf's Rain _would have involved dragons and the entire IC would just be one big... Ah, never mind. My want to avoid needless spoiling prevents me from saying more. But let's just say it would have an unexpected ending no could could have foreseen! All original material is mine, yadda yadda, let's just get on with the story.**

His head pounsed as if hammered by haevy construction-grade tools. A numbing sensation plagued his limbs, stealing his control and turning his proud stride into an uneven stagger. Weak as he was, the giant black wall of fur that always remained at his side provided a support, allowing him to carry on even when he was about to drop to the ground. There was a bitter taste to his mouth, this one true instead of figurative, and an all-too familiar stench hung over him like sickness.

Morzan Black knew he was drunk, there was no denying that, but he wasn't about to find a bench and sleep it off like most drunkards. The prey he had tracked down for weeks was within his grasp. She was so close he could almost taste her, and the unpleasant effects of alcohol wouldn't be enough to prevent him from having his vengeance. No, not even Angvard himself could stop Morzan when he was on the trail of his favorite and only prey.

Despite his unyielding perservance, nothing could disguise his intoxicated state from the crowds that disdainfully walked by him. Several greedy eyes watched from the shadows of allies and windows, belonging to useless bums that thrived on the weakness of others, like parasites off this already corrupted society. Opportunistic hunters as they were, they noticed his vulnerable condition and would not hesitate to use that to their advantage. Drunk alcoholics like him were the easy targets the unsavory characters of the world always kept a weather eye out for.

Of course, his misleading appearance belied his true strength. Morzan always carried a large black gun with him, kept to his person by a strap he slung over his shoulder. In any other city, such nonchalant treatment of a dangerous weapon would have warranted fear from the populace and to be instantly arrested by the police. Here in the Outer Rim, such displays of power by gang-bangers and fearful civilians was commonplace. But, unlike those cocky hotshots, Morzan knew how to aim and fire his weapon with the deft speed of a hunter. Should the need call for it, he could walk of a common brawl alive and most likely un-shot.

But the main feature that deterred the muggers and thugs from his seemingly vulnerable hide was the black dog that faithfully trotted by his side. His animal companion's head reached up to his elbow. An impressive feat, considering that Morzan was a taller-than-average man. With sharp claws and fangs he bared at all those that stared at him, this dog seemed more like a hellhound than even the man-eating abominations that roamed the streets of the Outer Rim at night.

Suddenly Morzan stopped in his staggering walk, his obedient companion halting the moment he did. Red-stained blue eyes narrowing in suspicion, the man withdrew something from his pocket and held it out to his dog's snout. The things Morzan held in his hands were bloodied scales, a prize his hound had ripped from the she-dragon with his merciless jaws. The same scales that still had her scent and could now be used against her.

Inhaling the scent, the beast's nostrils quivered at the smell of his prey. Slobber began to drip down from his maws and a growl burbled up from his throat. Unusually intelligent dark violet eyes turned from the scales down another street. His muscles tensed, a telltale sign that Morzan knew all too well.

As if doused in cold water, the drunken haze vanished from Morzan's body. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, energizing his tired form and stirring the excitement of the prospect of the hunt within him. His stubbled face turning upward into a half-smile, he knew he had cornered his quarry at last. She may have been able to evade him longer than the others, but in the end no dragon could escape his endless determination and the sharp nose of his faithful companion.

"Find her, Shruikan."

Galvanized by the command, the monstrous black dog went bounding down the street. Gripping the leash tightly in one hand, Morzan grabbed his gun and readied it with the other. Though Shruikan was enthusiastic with the pursuit of their prey, his loyalty to his master kept him always by his side. Even when it would have been a simple matter to break free of his leash and bring down the she-dragon by his own; the stupid but faithful beast he was.

_Yes, _Morzan thought as the ran full speed down the street. _Considering the circumstances, I could not have found a better instrument to help my achieve my vengeance against all of the dragons. Willing to die for me, and without the gall to go out and act on his own power._

Shoving the musing aside for a more suitable time, Morzan focused on the task at end. Together he and Shruikan had a monster to kill. And the joy of at least being able to spill her lifesblood would be _glorious._

* * *

The place; the headquarters of the Dras-Leona Investigative Services, located in the city's Inner Rim. The time; his watch had broken last spring (though these days it seemed only like a slightly warmer version of the ruthless winter) and such trivial matters of order had stopped mattering to him weeks ago. The condition of matters; no further than he was last night. Progress had been practically nonexistent since he had started the case on the Red Strikers almost a year ago.

People thought Detective Murtagh Rider crazy. That was alright, recently he was beginning to doubt his own sanity as well. Since the Red Strikers had been stepping up on successful raids of caravans at an alarming rate, he had rarely left his office. Unkempt brown hair fell into his face, which hadn't had seen a comb in weeks. Unsweetened black coffee was perhaps the only thing that allowed him to remain awake, though it might have also been responsible for the rampant thoughts that constantly swirled about his mind.

Grabbing the mug, Murtagh downed the last of his beverage with a wince. The coffee was cold, but the short boost it provided would be enough to ward off exhaustion for a while. Dark eyes turning back down to the files and pictures laid out on his desk, he began to shuffle through them again. While the department now relied on their computers to store information, he preferred things the old-fashioned way. His hands were restless, and he wanted something tangible to rake over in his mind.

The Red Strikers had first showed up in the Outer Rim approximately about a year ago. Their tactics were unconventional and efficient. Within a few short months they had ruthlessly beat out the impressive competition to become the best gang in Dras-Leona's slums. They had even risen above the petty chaos that infected the Outer Rim, and were setting their sights on the bigger and grander prizes the Inner Rim offered. The Strikers were launching raids on the secure supply trains that traveled to the Inner Rim on a daily basis. Previously the trains had been heavily guarded and considered entirely safe from all of the gangs. The Red Strikers were beginning to prove otherwise. While the overly-proud officers of the Inner Rim decided to believe this was not the case, Murtagh didn't choose to shy away from the grim truth. This unique gang of criminals was beginning to pose the supposedly impregnable core of Dras-Leona a genuine _threat._

What made apprehending the Red Strikers so difficult was their utter unpredictability. They could hit three different supply trains three nights in a row or not show at all for days on end. There was no pattern to their raids, no other way to foresee an attack other than by sheer instinct. The Strikers ignored the most enticing of convoys, and hit the smallest of them. Erratic as the weather, there was no surefire tactic to apprehend them in mid-act.

Automatically shoving these to the far corner of the desk, his hands found and snapped open a familiar file. It was a small one, holding only a thin pile of papers worn by frequent use. Positively minuscule in comparison to the files he had massed up against suspects from other cases, this one file contained all of the available information on the very elusive and effective leader of the Red Strikers. The blurry photograph showed a man that looked some years than younger Murtagh himself, but appearances were deceiving. Murtagh felt his eyes narrow in a glare of hatred as he gazed at that photograph. Though the picture was bad quality, the man's brown eyes cut through to him like knives. They were hard. Inhuman. The eyes of the calculating puppet-master behind the Red Strikers.

His alias was Thorn, and that was what everyone in DLIS referred to him as. The man's real name was unknown, any past records of his history nonexistent. Hell, Murtagh didn't even know if the punk was an Alagaesian native or if he had moved in from Varden or Surda! Some time ago he had arrived on the scene in the Outer Rim, and had quickly ascended to the top of the food chain.

Mysterious as Thorn was, he was also as wily as a fox. Pinning him to the Red Strikers was like Murtagh trying to kill his own damn shadow. The leader took great care to never be sighted by witnesses as his men often were. If he did help out his gang in the actual raids, it was on the ones where no survivors or cameras were left behind to reveal him. As such, DLIS officially deemed him useless. He was just another unimportant thug to them, another piece of scum in the sewer system that was the Outer Rim. All word of his leadership of the Strikers came from what his higher-ups called 'unreliable sources' that couldn't be trusted. So long as that was no irrefutable evidence of that fact, Thorn mattered as little to the authorities as much as all of the other rapists and thieves that prowled the streets.

...Unless Detective Murtagh Rider's grand plan to finally bring down this gang-lord succeeded.

The Dragon Fangs had been a gang not high up on the social ladder, but were ascending it with astonishing progress. Several years ago they were fast becoming a force to be reckoned with, conquering and assimilating other smaller groups into their swelling numbers. Had they been allowed the time to grow, then perhaps the cops in the Inner Rim would have finally gotten off their overpaid asses and done something about the city's record crime levels.

But such an opportunity never presented itself to the Dragon Fangs to reach their fullest potential. About a year and a half ago the abandoned apartment building they had dubbed their home base had caught alight, all the incriminating evidence inside going up in smoke. For once, the fire department had responded to this emergency. (After all, the building was very close to the Inner Rim's barrier and no one wanted _that _to burn down.) When the flames had been doused, Murtagh had been among the DLIS agents sent over to find out the start of the fire. (Because if some street punks were planning to set buildings on fire so close to the precious Inner Rim, they had another thing coming.) What had been discovered inside was one nightmare the detective could never forget.

Some charred and others unharmed by the inferno, all bore signs of horrifying violence that had been inflicted before the fire had ignited. Entire abdomens had been ripped open, their innards strewn carelessly about like a macabre display of child's art. Many bore vicious slashes that seemed to be the work of claws and indentations of massive fangs that belonged on one of the feral dogs or some other demonic creature. But it was the pure terror that still gleamed in those glazed-over eyes, the shrieks of agony that now remained frozen forever in time, that haunted Murtagh's dreams.

This had been no mere gang brawl, that much was for certain. Twisted as these dark souls were, none had the steeled resolve and complete absence of any human empathy to ruthlessly torture the entire Dragon Fangs group to death before setting their bodies and former base alight. Who was the one responsible for a show of cruelty that had shocked even the hardened agents of DLIS?

Their very leader, perhaps. All of the burnt corpses had been identified as simple thugs and followers that already had records on the street. According to the informants, none of the dead had possessed the brain power to control such a rising and fruitful operation. Which meant their leader had escaped the heartless massacre and the later blaze. Out hiding in the streets and the most likely suspect for the crime.

Currently, Murtagh was betting that this elusive Thorn was the one behind it all. Both the Dragon Fangs and the later Red Strikers had employed similar tactics unique to only the the gangs, with the same impressive degrees of success. Both were headed by mysterious leaders that stayed out of the spotlight and managed their operations from the shadows.

Though much of the crime-scene had been ravaged during the fire, enough circumstantial evidence had survived so that anyone could be convicted upon the multiple charges of murder, assault, torture, and many others. Murtagh was more than prepared to arrest Thorn and at last imprison the gang-banger for life... Once his higher-ups were satisfied, that is. Eager as DLIS was to finally close that unnerving case they needed at least some shred of proof that Thorn was even connected to the Dragon Fangs in the first place. Enough to settle the small shadow of doubt permanently.

_Knock knock. _

Startled from his thoughts, Murtagh swivelled around in his chair to face the door. One of his fellow agents had barged into the office, seemingly unconcerned at the other man's ire at the rude disruption.

"Saddle up, Rider. We've got a severe disturbance at Eden Park."

The other man arched a skeptical brow, keeping his doubts silent. Eden Park was in the Inner Rim, one of the most secure areas in the entire Empire, excluding only Urubaen itself and possibly Teirm. Here a 'severe disturbance' usually constituted no more than a minor squabble between high school students or some other minor disruption. Certainly nothing that warranted the attention of his department.

"Really? What emergency can be so big that the local police can't handle it?"

The other agent shrugged mockingly. "Oh, I don't know... Maybe an armed lunatic with a freaking monster of a dog menacing a park. A bastard from the next door hellhole that managed to bypass both the barriers and the guards, a bastard that not even the ordinary authorities want to deal with."

Suppressing a groan of exasperation, Murtagh jumped to his feet and quickly donned a coat to protect him against the biting cold. "Let's just go arrest this psycho, then. The last thing Mayor Tabor needs is an outcast from the Outer Rim ruing his perfect paradise."

Hurrying after his fellow agent, Detective Rider stole one last wistful glance at his desk. Soon he would find the missing key that would link Thorn to those murders beyond a shadow of a doubt, and then he could have that killer off the streets for good. Until then, real life was calling him...

* * *

Also located in the prestigious Inner Rim of Dras-Leona was an impressive building that housed the main branch of Epiphany Labs. While the company had originated in Surda, its main facilities were based in the Empire for access to better resources and opportunities. Epiphany's presence was because of an alliance between Lord Galbatorix Voskian and Lord Orrin Larkin. For while portions of Surda sided with the Varden, these were small groups of radicals that had nothing to do with their nation's official position. As far as the Empire was concerned, Surda had no affiliations with either Noble families except matters of pure business. As the agreement stood, the Empire would continue to host Epiphihany Labs in Dras-Leona so long as they were provided any new research or technology they requested.

Which was why Dr. Katrina Ismira was so nervous as she toured the halls of the famous labs. It was no mystery that Epiphany was the best of its kind in all of Alagaesia. Many of the scientists employed there were Surdan. So being an Imperial native allowed to work at the greatest haven of scientific achievement ever was considered a great honor. Far too great for her little insignificant brain to process.

Yet here Katrina was, in the very sacred halls she had wanted to be in since she was a little girl. Giving her a tour of the facilities was Sloan Butcher, director of this branch of Epiphany Labs. The middle-aged man led her through the area, curtly describing each wing and and the things being developed or studied within. Things continued on in this manner for a while until the pair stopped outside a metal door protected with formidable security systems Katrina didn't even want to know about.

Sloan turned around to face her, dark gray eyes solemn. "This is where our tour comes to an end, Dr. Ismira. And possibly your job, if you don't prove yourself up to par."

Heart stopping in dread, Katrina was unable to stifle the gasp of shock and horror that escaped her. "W-what ever for, Dr. Butcher? From your letters you seemed eager to hire me. Why end it all right now?"

"Because I am asking you to commit technical treason to Lord Galbatorix and your country," the old man intoned bluntly. At his new employee's astonished look, he launched into a brief explanation. "As per terms of our agreement with the Empire, Epiphany Labs must report all new research and developments being carried out. Failure to do so is not advisable. What lies beyond these doors has been in Surda's possession for decades. It is the main reason why we sought to maintain a lab in a city like Dras-Leona in the first place. Lord Galbatorix knows nothing of it, and must never find out."

Glancing from the door to the director indecisively, she mulled over her limited options. Much of Epiphany's funds were sunken into the improvement and creation of new weapons of mass destruction to use against the enemy. Or defensive technologies meant to strengthen preexisting ones against attack. Her speciality was organism-based, not for weaponry and advanced robotics! Refusing Sloan's oath of secrecy was relinquishing her only chance of working at her dream job in a department tailored for her personal expertise.

Sighing in resignation, Katrina nodded reluctantly. Oh, well. Reaching her dream at least was worth some minor treason, right? And wasn't as if she was dealing with rebels or doing anything to harm the Empire or Lord Galbatorix. She was just holding information on some insignificant subject that had nothing to do with global domination or anything of the sort. She could live with the minor consequences. And what was life without a little bit of risk?

Sloan smiled slightly, smugly pleased. "Excellent. You can sign the confidentiaility agreements inside." He turned to the door, beginning a difficult series of proving his identity of the security systems. Once the long process was finally over, the door slid open with a soft hiss, allowing then entrance.

Enthusiastic now, Katrina gleefully bounded forward. A bemused and restrained Sloan followed. The younger scientist glanced curiously about, wondering over the computers that displayed foreign data and at white-coated workers that glanced briskly up in return at her.

"This looks expensive," she remarked admiringly, gazing about at her personal version of heaven. "What does Lord Galbatorix think you're spending all of this money on?"

Sloan smirked thinly. "Surda has its own funds, Dr. Ismira. As far as our Imperial Noble is concerned, this room is just one large storage space. Not enough mysterious money has come out of his allotted budgets for him be convinced otherwise. Only Lord Orrin himself and Epiphany's top specialists are aware of our specimen's existence. But our Dr. Nasuada Housou was hellbent on getting you here with us."

"Specimen?" Attention drawn away from the monitors, Katrina's gaze traveled upward to the enormous tank that took up most of the availible and the curious being contained inside of it. With understandable terrofied surprise, the young specialist tumbled back with a startled shriek of "Oh my gods! Who- _what_ is _that?_"

The creature inside the tank seemed to have been disturbed her emotional response. Shifting slightly in the fluids that held him aloft and closed eyelids fluttering weakly, the monitors connected to his young body began to chatter in his excitement. Sloan looked fondly at the being, with a proud air Katrina found concerning.

"_That _is the two-hundred-year-old result of a secret technology long since lost to modern science," was Sloan's almost reverent explanation. "Only partly human and modified with DNA we can only guess at, his extreme sensity to his surroundings is apparent even under suspended animation. One whose full capabilities can't even be recreated today and who was, the superstitious old-timers might still say, crafted from magic."

Revelation dawning, Katrina gasped and took a few nervous steps. Those words were hauntingly familiar to her. Taken directly from the stories she had grown up being read to. "You can't possibly be insinuating that this is-"

"Oh, but I am, Dr. Ismira," Sloan interrupted with a grin. "Meet Eragon, the same boy that has come to be called the legendary Shur'tugal."

**Cliff-hanger, and all you folks were waiting months just to read this! I know, I'm evil. But hopefully you won't hate me for it 'cause the next chapter will be out way earlier ;)**

**Next chapter: This one is finally from Saphira's POV. Mostly. And we've still got one main dragon character yet to be introduced...**

**1. Shruikan's a dog. (For now.) But no ordinary dog, as you obviously see. I've still got big plans for him and his crazy-ass master, Morzan. ('Cause I needed a Quent, and with Murtagh as the detective Morzan seemed perfect for the role.)**

**2. That's right. Eragon's the wise and powerful humanoid _thingy _destined to open the way to Paradise. Sorta like Cheza from the actual Wolf's Rain... just not, you know, female and part-flower. And maybe not as smart, 'cause our darling Ergy's not the brightest bulb in the box :D**


End file.
